


like sunday morning

by Anonymous



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: M/M, dc era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 17:13:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20492366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Actually, he might be able to agree with Roosevelt in some manner, because with the exception of his mother and some of his siblings, people definitely do not come easy.Until he meets Jon.





	like sunday morning

_ You can use my skin to bury secrets in, _ _  
_ _ And I will settle you down. _

-Fiona Apple, “I Know”

  
  


Ronan’s heard it his whole life: nothing worth having comes easy. He has a few issues with this.

His first gripe is a pedantic one, probably driven by what he recognizes is his own insatiable and insufferable need to be right about everything: as far as quotations go, this one is incorrect. It might be how the colloquial expression goes, but it’s a bastardized diminutive of something Theodore Roosevelt wrote in the early twentieth century: “Nothing in the world is worth having or doing unless it means effort, pain, difficulty.” 

The second thing is that, well - a _ lot _of stuff comes easy. 

(He’d found that out fairly early in life, when he’d noticed that the other kids would rather be outside playing baseball or soccer than inside with a book. The realization that for them, school was a soft-sided prison and not a utopic escape, that learning was something that happened as a mere consequence of the day rather than being an impassioned pursuit so critical that it felt like breathing, had been a linchpin moment in his early development. Ronan had never felt quite normal, but this was different than the not-normal that came from having famous (and famously embattled) parents. This was different - better, somehow - so he turned it into a refuge.)

But sure, on the surface Ronan gets it. Hard work - the experience of having something done well - results in pride and value and increased self-worth. And actually, he might be able to agree with Roosevelt in some manner, because with the exception of his mother and some of his siblings, _ people _ definitely do not come easy. 

It's not that he isn’t friendly, or empathetic, or reliable. He thinks he's all of those things. But even when other people are, too, the one thing Ronan can't do is trust them. He is painfully self-aware, always has been, and he knows that what’s probably expected of him is anything other than what he’s tried to become. At the same time, everyone wants something from him, something informed by _ their _idea of who he is, which somehow always seems to be fully developed by the time they actually meet him. 

Things always end up in the same place, with him trying to prove himself in different realms to different people: he’s smart enough, he’s ordinary enough, he’s a hard enough worker, he’s special enough, he’s straight enough, he’s gay enough, he cares enough. _ He’s _ enough, except for when he’s too much, and it’s then, in those times where he’s trying to settle an imaginary balance sheet, that the isolation of his own existence makes Ronan unbearably jealous of people who start their lives with a blank slate, people who can approach others without caution or reservations. Because lots of _ things _ are easy, but no _ people _are.

Until he meets Jon.

It takes precisely twenty minutes for Jon to become his third piece of evidence against Roosevelt. They’re backstage at a foreign aid event. Ronan is there as the young State wunderkind and Jon has undoubtedly drawn the short straw to act as the White House’s contribution, a way for the executive branch to make an appearance without needing someone like Axelrod to show up. Mandy Moore, in her capacity as an activist, is also there, but as an actual famous person, she’s been immediately engrossed in conversation with various wannabe hangers-on and so Ronan, keen not to step on that particular land mine, gravitates toward Jon. 

It takes three words to start the conversation (“Hi, I’m Ronan”). Almost a decade later, it hasn’t ended.

Jon enters his life at a weird time. Ronan’s in his early twenties, young in body but so, so, _ so _fucking old at heart. And not in a cool hipster-millennial way, but in an actual, honest-to-god geriatric spirit kind of way. Jon is a little older than him though not egregiously so, which works because Ronan’s never felt his own age anyway. Jon’s funny as hell, too, clearly brilliant but also very clever in that specific whip-smart sort of way that he knows his mother is going to love. He’s more experienced than Ronan, romantically - though who isn’t, given that Ronan’s spent most of his sexually developmental years with people who are inappropriately older than him - and is the kindest mix of generous and patient in that area than Ronan could’ve ever hoped for. 

From the very beginning, from the start of that conversation backstage in D.C., everything is just … easy. Their circumstances become difficult - Ronan goes to Oxford and Jon goes to L.A., then Ronan goes to New York and Jon stays in California, then Ronan starts going back and forth and somehow that might even be worse than not going at all, because the departures are tougher and tougher and the life he has there is harder to leave every time - but it’s never difficult with _ them. _Jon sees him through his successes and failures and he weathers Jon’s with him too, but none of that surprises Ronan. The real test, if one was ever required with Jon, had already come earlier - much earlier - when on their third date, his family comes up in conversation.

-

Ronan is the one who brings it up, actually, which is probably the first time that’s ever happened. Usually, he doesn’t need to; somebody else will do it first. Of course, Ronan understands why: just because he’d grown up around famous people, that doesn’t mean that others had so much as met a single person who would qualify under that category, let alone been the descendant of generations of them. It’s intriguing for them, probably, but Ronan’s heard all the questions (_ what was it like growing up with famous parents; how was the whole public-custody-battle thing; do you want to be an actor too?), _ and it’s just honestly not a very interesting conversation anymore. But he can’t blame people for asking. And a _ lot _of people ask.

But not Jon.

Obviously, Ronan knows that Jon knows who his parents are. Ronan’s in his twenties now, self-aware as ever, and understands that part of the attention paid to him by people at work is because of his mother and what he’d been able to do alongside her in his youth. He thinks he’s managed to recognize, embrace, then harness (in that order) his privilege as best he can, and by this point he’s not really trying to outrun his last name. He just doesn’t want it to be the only thing people know about him.

That said, it is of course something to _ be _ known about him, and that’s why Ronan finds it kind of odd that Jon’s never asked about it. Generally, _ tell me about your family _is a pretty basic first-few-dates conversation topic. They’ve talked a little about Jon’s, but the return question has yet to be posed. Ronan’s getting to the point where he’s going to probably start mentioning his mother, just out of habit - she’s a major presence in his daily life, even from a few states away - and he figures he should rip the bandaid off.

So on their third date, as he and Jon are wedged into the back corner of a hipstery, dimly-lit artisanal pizzeria at the end of Embassy Row, Ronan says, “So, my parents.”

Jon’s mouth is half-full of a slice of kale-and-bacon pizza, but he doesn’t miss a beat. “What about them?”

Ronan purses his lips slightly. “I’m assuming you know who they are.”

Jon raises an eyebrow, finishes chewing slowly, and fully swallows his pizza before replying, “Yup.”

There has to be more than that. With everyone, everywhere, there’s _ always _more than that. But Jon takes another bite of pizza instead of speaking more, so Ronan continues. “Is that - do you have any questions, or anything?”

“Do you want me to have questions?” Jon asks, looking across the table.

The thing is, he does and he doesn’t. Ronan’s never in his life met a stranger and wanted to tell them everything, all of his secrets and his drama. He’s never actively wanted to talk about his father, ever, or betray any details about his mother that she hasn’t already chosen to share herself. But - he kind of _ does _with Jon. He feels more instantaneously comfortable with him than he ever has before with anyone: feels relaxed, feels unburdened. Safe, kind of, in a way that he really only ever feels when he’s at the farm. If Ronan’s going to tell anyone anything, it’ll be this guy.

Eventually, it _ will _happen. He can sense it. But not right now, not when they’re having a good time and Ronan’s mind is half-occupied with musings about whether Jon’s hands work as quickly as his tongue does. He just needs to make sure that Jon’s fine waiting on the subject, too. So he hesitates, chews on his bottom lip, and admits, “Not really.”

Jon’s eyes search his briefly, then he picks a stray piece of bacon off of one of the leftover slices and pops it into his mouth. “Then I don’t.” He nods his head toward Ronan’s plate, where half of his pear-and-gorgonzola pizza still remains. “You should try some of this kind. You’d like it. Also, you’d be saving me from myself.”

Ronan’s tried the kale and bacon pizza here before, but he recognizes the opening Jon’s giving him for what it is, and takes it. He leans over, grabs a slice, and takes a bite. 

“Mm,” he hums, chewing and swallowing completely before remarking, “Not bad.”

“Knew you’d like it. It’s just pretentious enough.”

Ronan laughs. “Is that what I am?!”

Jon grins. “Oh yeah. But in an endearing way. It’s not your fault. That’s just Connecticut.”

Ronan just shakes his head at him, still smiling. Beneath the table, he slides his shoe forward until the toe of his oxford taps against Jon’s sneaker. “You’ve got a read on me, huh?”

Jon’s chair shuffles forward slightly. A moment later, Ronan feels his foot bracketed on either side by two others. If the table was shallower, he’s pretty sure their knees would be touching. In a true display of the consequences of his own delayed socialization, Ronan feels his heartbeat quicken at the thought of it, and he almost has to look away.

The twinkle in Jon’s eyes, though, is too mesmerizing. “Maybe,” he’s saying, as he tips his pint glass up and downs the last of his beer. “Or maybe you’re just not as mysterious as you think.”

-

Later, as winter settles, Ronan finds himself at a bar with Jon and his friends, celebrating the birthday of someone he doesn’t really know. Jon is nearly done at the White House, so he’s been making the rounds talking to lots of people that Ronan recognizes as other Obama-ites. Ronan is an adult that doesn’t need babysitting, so this is _ fine, _but he does wonder sometimes if Jon recognizes the differences in how natural - or unnatural, in his case - their social personalities are.

Ronan’s made a few friends in D.C. since he’s been here, but Jon’s crowd is a bit younger than his, more fun, and hungrier for more of everything in a kind of way that is almost magnetic. He already knows some of them - Tommy, for one, who works at the NSC and whose path he’s crossed before. Tommy is a genuinely nice guy who’s always happy to talk shop, which is always Ronan’s go-to in questionable social environments, which D.C. is full of.

They’re talking about Afghanistan - what else - when Tommy’s sentence halts. Ronan’s about to ask if something is wrong when an arm that he _ knows _is Jon’s snakes around his waist from behind. A moment later, the other appears with Jon to press a new drink into his hand. 

“Great service,” Ronan comments, trying desperately to not just melt against Jon like he’d truly like to.

Jon grins and pecks his cheek. “Gotta stay hydrated. Wouldn’t want that flawless skin to dry up. Plus, I accept tips.”

“Hey, what am I, Lovett, chopped liver?” Tommy jokingly complains, lifting his own empty glass. 

Jon rolls his eyes at him. “Constantly rebuffing me, and yet still expecting free drinks,” he sighs. “This is homophobia.” He glances between Ronan and Tommy. “What are you two WASPs buzzing about? If you say work, I’m breaking up with both of you.”

Ronan grins sheepishly. “Vacations?” he tries. “...in Afghanistan.”

“Ah, yes,” Jon deadpans, “I hear it’s beautiful this time of year. Get hobbies, both of you.” Then, with a squeeze to Ronan’s elbow, he’s gone again.

Tommy laughs after him. “He has a point, probably,” he admits, scratching his neck. Then he sighs, a hint of sadness on the tail end. “D.C.’s not gonna be the same without Lovett.”

Ronan swallows. He’s been trying not to get maudlin about this - he and Jon have talked at length already about long-distance, and even though they’re both aware that it’s pretty unrealistic, they’ve decided to try to make it work anyway. Still, it sucks, so -

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I wish I would’ve met him earlier. We’re, uh - we’re staying in touch, and ... everything, but it’ll be different.”

Tommy smiles kindly at him. “It’s gonna be fine,” he says confidently. “Lovett really likes you. He doesn’t give up on people that easily.”

Ronan nods, not really needing the reassurance but grateful for it anyway. His eyes catch sight of Jon, who’s now engaged in some kind of argument with the other Jon - Favreau, a person who Ronan _ should _theoretically have things in common with but that in practice he doesn’t at all. Both of them are animated, but it’s not tense; it seems fairly representative of their dynamic, at least insofar as Ronan has witnessed. 

Tommy glances back briefly and then immediately looks bored. “I wonder which one of them used the wrong verb tense,” he jokes, which makes Ronan laugh.

“You know, I didn’t expect him,” Ronan suddenly says. He can feel his face reddening but he doesn’t feel self-conscious. “Anything about him. It’s all been a surprise. Like a marshmallow in a box of oat bran that’s somehow just as nutritious.” He glances up at Tommy awkwardly, realizing only after he’s spoken that it’s a pretty odd thing to say to someone you don’t know well about their friend.

For his part, though, Tommy looks thoughtful. He’s quiet for a few moments, then says, “My dad died last year.” Ronan opens his mouth to provide the appropriate apology, but Tommy shakes his head and keeps speaking, so he doesn’t press it. “It was awful. I have a good support system, though, and like - don’t get me wrong, I was with my stepmom and my family a lot, but I _ live _with Lovett. He’s not, like, an Oprah type of comforting, but I swear, he has this weird way of knowing what people need without them saying it. I know that’s vague, and I can’t even think of a specific example, but - fuck, I don’t know how to phrase it, that’s why they’re the speechwriters - it’s like, every day was the worst day of my life, but it would’ve been even more awful if I had to have breakfast with someone who walked on eggshells.”

Ronan nods fervently. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. I asked him if he had any questions about my parents, just to like, get that out of the way, y’know? And he basically said no, because _ I _didn’t want to talk about it.”

Tommy laughs. “That’s probably also because Lovett couldn’t give less of a shit about famous people. Unless you’re Al Franken, I swear to god, Beyonce could be in front of us and he would walk away. That_ has _happened, actually.”

“That’s … refreshing, honestly,” Ronan admits. “Famous people are overrated. Believe me.”

He grins. “Yeah, yeah, get Tom Brady in here to tell me that and then I’ll believe -” He stops, interrupted by the sudden appearance of Jon out of thin air, this time pressing a drink into Tommy’s hand. “Thanks Lovett, I was just kidding.”

“I’m taking the money out of your wallet tomorrow,” Jon informs him, then disappears again.

Tommy chuckles and turns back to Ronan, lifting his glass in what is clearly a small offer to cheers. “To Lovett,” he proposes.

“To Jon,” Ronan agrees. “And to a reinvestment in diplomacy for AfPak.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Tommy tilts his glass back.

Ronan follows suit, draining the last of his vodka into his throat. It goes down easy.

.


End file.
